Escaping Pinkamena
by borbonne-le-bonne
Summary: ...and maybe somewhere on the other side of the world, far away from Equestria, there was somewhere the screaming couldn't be heard...


Escaping Pinkamena

The party, that first party, had been the most glorious moment of her existence. Sound and taste and glorious colour combined, and her sad grey life exploded into a whole new universe of joy as her cutie mark shone into existence. While her father danced and her mother smiled, she had a purpose and an unrivalled happiness shining through her mind, and maybe even the potential to make life happier from then on out.

* * *

><p>the problem with the first party was that it had changed nothing. There had been laughter, food, a small escape from the greyness, a little moment of perfection in a small sad life… and then the small sad life had gone on as if nothing had happened.<p>

* * *

><p>Pinkie still lived through the second party sometimes, on nights when dreaming wasn't a good thing. For those torturous moments she would be there again, herself and not herself, and wake up with her sisters' screams echoing in her ears and the taste of viscera on her tongue. And Pinkamena never missed these opportunities to whisper that it was never too early or too late for a party and why not invite Dashie, doesn't she love a bit of <em>fun?<em>

* * *

><p>travel had expelled Pinkamena before, when she had made her way from the rock farm where everything was dead and grey and come to Ponyville.<p>

She had lived happily at Sugarcube Corner, working and organizing parties, nice parties, not the sort Pinkamena would ever be welcome at. She had met her real true friends, Twilight and Rarity and Dashie and Fluttershy and Applejack, and they had just had so much fun, and Pinkamena had mostly slept through it all, only surfacing to think of horrible things to happen to horrible people.

And then the third party had happened, without any involvement from her at all, and the floodgates were open and Pinkamena was back- not in control, but not leaving either, dragging her down into the sad thoughts that came before the parties Pinkamena threw.

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><p>if the first party had made life happier, maybe Pinkamena would have never existed. If her sisters hadn't remained quiet and disapproving, if her mother had kept smiling, if her father had let her know he knew she existed every so often, if money weren't so tight, <em>if if if<em> chasing itself around in circles and drumming a track into her skull.

* * *

><p>because the truth of it was that Pinkie couldn't take it anymore, pretending everything was all right with her friends while Pinkamena whispered her poison into her brain, smiling at even the grumpiest customers while Pinkamena plotted gruesome murder, keeping the monster behind her eyes at bay even as it tempted her with its plans.<p>

* * *

><p>guilt would always keep <em>if if if<em> company, running a parallel track. Guilt held hands with Pinkamena, there beside every stray violent thought and intention to wrack her with worry.

Mrs. Cake might say something, Pinkie would reply, Pinkamena would hiss wicked things, and guilt would reach into her brain and not let go for hours, and when it did finally let go, the cycle would only repeat itself again.

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><p>the second party had happened not too long after the first party. The regret and sadness at not being able to change the stuffy dull deadness of her life turned first to paranoia- had they planned this? Did they want to make her dead inside like they were?- then to sadness- why would they do this to her? Should she end it to make them happy?- to vengeful rage. If they wanted to make her dead inside, the thoughts hissed, she ought to make them dead outside to match their insides. It was only self-defense, came the reasoning.<p>

And in the dead of night she would sit in the shack where she had held the first party, her thoughts twisting like snakes and mutating and becoming something terrible, surrounded by the remains of those moments of joy.

* * *

><p>and she knew one thing. She had to leave her friends, break her own heart and maybe theirs (<em>don't be stupid, <em>Pinkamena jeered,_ they'll be glad to see the back of you_), and walk into the rising sun to disappear from their lives forever. Because if she didn't- if she dared to stay even a day longer- there might be a fourth party, one even worse than the second party, one to bring pain and death to Ponyville. At least the rock farm had been a dead place already; bringing her second home to misery would be a crime worse than murder.

* * *

><p>the third party had been a curse and a blessing mixed into a single creature. The curse of it was that it had brought Pinkamena back to life, resurrecting her psychosis and filling Pinkie with her poison, like a hate zombie. Spike had been lucky to escape with his life. But the simultaneous blessing was the knowledge of her friends' love for her- love that filled her heart and gave her a tool to banish Pinkamena on dark nights, however temporarily, and courage to know what to do.<p>

* * *

><p>so with her heart heavy, Pinkie Pie had made her preparations. The possessions that she couldn't bear to part with went into her little pack- mainly things to remind her, like a few apple seeds that Applejack had given her a little while ago, that cute dress Rarity had made, and so on- and the things she couldn't or wouldn't keep went anonymously to ponies who would want them or need them more. She sorted out her resignation with Mrs. Cake, managing to dodge almost all explanation save for admitting that she hadn't been feeling herself, and sorted out her travel permits and withdrawn all the money she had saved from the bank.<p>

* * *

><p>and as much as she wished it were true that Pinkamena was something other than herself, it was just a name for all the bad thoughts that clouded her mind. Knowing that she felt murderous intent on a daily basis… it was just unbearable, the kind of thing that brings rash thoughts to mind –rash thoughts like taking the entire contents of the medicine box at once or wandering over a cliff- and makes sleep nearly impossible. Giving the thoughts a name, though, that gave them a shape, something she could keep separate from herself and blame the horridness on, and maybe hope to escape one day.<p>

* * *

><p>when she left, she left at night, when nobody would realize. She went around the town, posting letters to explain and apologize under her friends' doors and taking one last look at the places she had loved. And so she trotted regretfully away from her home, with no hope of being able to return.<p>

As she reached the place where Ponyville and the wilds met, something loomed from the darkness-

-Pinkamena reared-

-and Zecora came into view.

Guilt pulled Pinkie to her knees. How could she think of attacking her?

The zebra knelt beside her and said in that hollow haunting voice, "I have heard you are not yourself in your mind."

Had Mrs. Cake told her? Had she figured it out on her own? It didn't matter. Broken, Pinkie admitted everything to her; how it had started, fleeing from the rock farm, Pinkamena's death and revival, and how it was ending now. And Zecora listened, and contemplated the information for a moment, before finally declaring, "That is certainly a bind. I cannot help you, girl, but my kin may. Travel beyond where the sun sets, through the bone yards where Celestia's power is naught, and find the plains- it is where they stay." The mare got to her feet and added, "I am sorry. Goodbye."

She disappeared back into the night as Pinkie called, "Thank you," after her. There was no reply.

But maybe she had a hope of being able to come back one day, if Zecora's family really could help her. And maybe somewhere on the other side of the world, far away from Equestria, there was somewhere the screaming couldn't be heard, somewhere she could finally escape being Pinkamena and be a normal pony.

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><p>Author's note: I hope this li'l thing is actually comprehensible. If not… yeah, sorry. It's been a long time since I actually wrote seriously. Critique would be greatly appreciated.<p>

Also, I hate ff's formatting.


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